


Keep you right

by glim



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Foot Massage, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Non-Sexual Intimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 09:16:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9484601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glim/pseuds/glim
Summary: Closing his eyes, Yuuri basks in the fantasy: Viktor, appearing at the sound of his name, warmth writ all over his person, his smile only for Yuuri.





	

By the end of the week, everything hurts, but nothing hurts more than his feet. 

Yuuri thinks about telling Viktor to take the bath he's running himself, though he'll keep it to himself that it's the thought of walking over to the bath that's nearly too much for him him. He tips his head back against the pillows and closes his eyes. He could probably fall asleep right here, and not want to move for the rest of the night. 

A few small sounds come from the bathroom, then padding footsteps, and gentle fingers take off his glasses and comb through his hair. 

"Viktor..."

"Hmm?" Viktor's fingers stroke his hair, then he settles the tips at Yuuri's temples and rubs in gentle circles. "You look sore and cold."

"Do I?" Yuuri asks and looks up at Viktor, as if doing so would give him evidence to answer his own question. All he sees his Viktor, though, his hair rumpled and his skin a little flushed from the steam in the bathroom. Yuuri smiles up at him. "You don't." 

"No? I didn't work as hard as you, not today, not this week," he says. He taps one finger against the top of Yuuri's head. "Should I walk you to your bath? The water might get cold if I leave you on your own." 

Yuuri shakes his head. Viktor's right--he's tired, worn out from the week's competitions and chilly from the drive and walk home in the winter evening--but so much that he can't persuade himself off the bed. 

He'll get to bask in the care and warmth of Viktor's appreciation soon; that's reward enough for tugging himself to stand. 

It's the half-second wince he allows himself that tells Viktor why he was so hesitant. He stands from the bed, tenses his jaw, and feels himself cringe. The moment's long enough for Viktor to come put an arm around his shoulder and to _tsk_ at him quietly. 

"I'm going to take a look at that when you're finished. No," he says before Yuuri can even open his mouth to protest. "I'm your coach, and your physical health is a part of your skating, so it's part of my job. Poor Yuuri," he adds, in a softer voice, press his lips to Yuuri's hair. "If not your coach, then you'll let your boyfriend take care of you, yes?"

The motion is so gentle, so quiet and intimate, that Yuuri feels something on the brink of blooming inside him. 

No. No, _not yet_ , not after a kiss and a few too long, too tight hugs. No, he's not ready for this yet. 

"I'm all right, Viktor. You should relax, too." Yuuri leans in against Viktor despite the 'not yet' still ringing through his mind. 

Viktor hugs him around the shoulders and before he lets go, Yuuri feels Viktor's breath stir his hair. 

It's desire, Yuuri knows then, desire and want and the kind of longing he's never been able to put into words, has never wanted to put into words, and the only one he has now for the feeling is _Viktor_. 

When he sinks into the hot bath, he lets out a sigh of relief that feels as if comes from the soles of his feet. He's alone, but Viktor's close, close enough that all Yuuri would have to do is say his name, and Viktor would be there, in the steam and the faint scent of tea and mint, his hair rumpled, stripped down to his shorts and long-sleeve tee shirt. 

Closing his eyes, Yuuri basks in the fantasy: Viktor, appearing at the sound of his name, warmth writ all over his person, his smile only for Yuuri. 

It's half fantasy, half hope, fueled by exhaustion and the vague sense that it's not just fantasy or hope, but possibility. 

_Not yet_ , Yuuri thinks again, stretches his feet in the hot water and lets himself feel the soreness that reaches up to his ankles and calves this week. He settles himself deeper into the water, listening to Viktor pad around the hotel room, making himself a cup of tea, padding back to the bedroom, where he must settle down with his tea and his phone. 

Not yet, Yuuri places a hand over his chest, and forces his breath to come more slowly.

But, oh, if not now, then when? 

_Now. Please now. You can have this, if you ask for it._

Viktor on the bed, sleepy and warm-flushed skin, tea and up late too many nights in row. His mouth and his hands and his lips and the way he smiles, almost boyish, when he's struck by sudden shyness. His hands on Yuuri's feet, gentle, then maybe not quite so gentle, and his mouth hovering close... 

By the time Yuuri resurfaces from the daydream, the water's cooled and he feels a little shiver run down his spine as he sits up in the bath. 

Maybe not yet, but soon. When he finds the words to ask for what he really wants.

Viktor's left him two towels and a tee shirt and a pair of worn work-out pants as pajamas in the bathroom for him. Yuuri stares down at the pile of clothes, touched by the small, unexpected gesture, and hugs his arms around himself as if the shirt he were putting on were Viktor's own. 

That thought strikes him oddly, deeply in the chest, strikes him where the bittersweetness is just on the brink of blooming. 

"Aren't you finished? You're going to catch--- Oh, there you are, Yuuri." Viktor's about to get off the bed when Yuuri appears, scrubbing his hair dry with one of the towels. "Let me?"

"Oh." Yuuri looks at Viktor, then at the towel in his hands, uncertain, but nods when Viktor smiles at him, confident, then faltering slightly when Yuuri doesn't agree immediately. "Okay, sure." 

Viktor beams, then, and he kneels next to Yuuri after he sits on the bed. His touch is firm and careful, and he doesn't so much scrub his hair as he does rub it and smooth it down a few times between checking to see if it's dry enough for his liking. By the time he's done, Yuuri's half-dozing off, half-basking in being that close to Viktor as he'd hoped to earlier.

Viktor touches his hair again, and then slips both arms around Yuuri from behind and rests his chin on Yuuri's shoulder. "Are you very tired?"

"Hmm? Sleepy, a little, yeah." 

"Not too tired, though?" He turns and nuzzles into Yuuri's still damp hair and sighs a bit, his breath tickling Yuuri's neck. "I'm going to rub your feet. You can fall asleep to that." 

Yuuri blinks himself out of the doze just as Viktor hugs him and slips away, and he cannot, he truly cannot think of any reason to tell Viktor no, though something in his mind wants to tell him that he ought to. 

But his heart, oh, his heart wants this, wants to see Viktor at his feet, touching him and bending close to him, fingers nimble and obedient, head bowed, lips pursed. 

The image flashes so sudden and vivid in Yuuri's mind that he is fully awake in the seconds it takes for Viktor to settle at the end of the bed and to motion for Yuuri to lie down and settle his feet in Viktor's lap. 

"There... now," Viktor says, and the word rings again in Yuuri's mind as he presses his thumbs against the arch of Yuuri's foot. He rubs slow and firm, over both arches, and thumbs a circle over the ball of Yuuri's left foot, the one that gets more sore when he pushes himself to work harder. 

"Please," Yuuri says. The word slips out, unbidden, and he turns aside to hide the flush he feels creep up his chest and neck. Viktor draws away, and Yuuri, without turning back yet, pushes his feet closer into Viktor's lap. 

"Oh. Maybe you like this? You're not too sore? Alright, be patient..." Viktor slides the palms of his hand down Yuuri's legs to his feet, pulls himself in closer, and goes back to finding all the small, sore places. 

It's not even so much that the sore places hurt anymore, because there is a tender and exquisite painfulness in the way Viktor touches Yuuri, as if he's trying to avoid the pain and work his way around it with his touch. But when he finds it, the feeling mellows, the warmth of his touch reaches Yuuri's chest, and he feels the flush of desire come over him again. 

He rubs the thumbs up and down the arches of Yuuri's feet a few times, pulling throat-deep sighs from Yuuri each time. 

What's almost as good, as Yuuri predicted, is the bow of Viktor's head, the fine line of his profile when he turns to the side, the flick of his hair from his eyes when he looks up to grin at Yuuri's sighs. 

And his lips, the slight purse of them as he works his fingers around Yuuri's ankles, the tip of his tongue between them every so often, the way the part, soft, just before he speaks. 

"Is that better?" 

"Yes, that's... that's amazing." 

"Not so much." Viktor laughs, and then bows his head down again, but this time he leans in very close, and cups one of Yuuri's heels in his palm. Then, a moment later, the whispery touch of his lips against the arch of Yuuri's foot. "Yes?"

When Yuuri gasps, Viktor presses a firmer kiss to the inside of his foot and nuzzles gently so his nose and lips brush the skin. 

"I'll take care of you, I'll take such good care of you, I love touching you," he says, and it's so quiet, so strangely quiet that Yuuri cannot think of anything to say except a murmured 'yes' and 'me too.'

And maybe that's the only right thing to do, because he can feel Viktor smile against his skin, and when he slides up the bed next to him, his body is a perfect warm curve next to Yuuri's.

He kisses Yuuri on the cheek, and, when Yuuri turns to him, gently on the lips. And kisses him again, and Yuuri runs one hand down Viktor's side to pull him closer. They're tangled up around each other and flushed, happy, tired, and needy in a way that Yuuri still finds undefinable. 

"When you're ready, alright? When you tell me." 

Yuuri nods and rests the palm of his hand at the small of Viktor's back, under his shirt and against his skin, and holds him, so they are pressed chest to chest, hip to hip. 

Not yet, he knows, but soon. So very soon.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Blind Pilot's 'Keep You Right.'


End file.
